Petra Ral
by moonsceptre
Summary: Jane Eyre AU. Young Governess, Petra Ral, longs for excitement in her plain life. She has lived through pain and discipline, but when she is offered a job elsewhere, her life begins to change dramatically. A certain dark man sitting by the fireplace has also caught her fancy.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Self-discovery**

* * *

><p>"That hurt!"<p>

"You deserved it."

"I'm telling mother on you."

A freckled boy ran toward the dining room as fast he could, nearly bumping his pale forehead into the mighty wooden table that centered the room. He desperately clung to the woman sitting at it, snot running down his grim nose.

"Mother! That horrible Petra is hitting Orla and I again!"

"Augustus, I will hear none of it," she dismissed, waving her pampered hand toward the door. "Do not associate with Miss Petra. She has been bad news the day I took her in."

Augustus frowned, wiping his chin and scratching his blonde locks angrily. He stamped his feet in a fit of childish frustration. Shortly after standing there and sulking, a similar looking girl entered the room, tear stricken, bloated cheeks puffed with annoyance.

"Mama, I hate her! She's pulling my hair!"

"I did not!"

Another girl entered the room, almost pushing the two blonde children on to their behinds. Albeit her fiery nature, the little girl was oddly small in comparison with the other two children - who were both clearly the same age. In appearance, the two siblings held a striking resemblance to their mother: blanch blonde hair and skin, freckles, and dark eyes. The little one blinked her hazel hues furiously, her fists balled as though she were ready to take on a fight. To anyone who didn't know her it would seem rather ridiculous concerning this child, as her height and structure reminded one of a pixie.

"Aunt Grimsley, they twist the truth. Augustus was throwing bread at me and laughing while I was trying to read. When I shouted at him, Orla insulted my father and I hit them both! They started it all! Please believe me."

"I do not believe wicked children."

"I am not a wicked child, Aunt Grimsley, they're liars!"

"That's enough, I'm sending for the maid," she gave the eldest child, Augustus, a cold look. He knew exactly what it meant.

Quickly, he ran out of the room. Several tense seconds passed, Aunt Grimsley sat there miserably as her daughter, Orla, stood in between, still spurting crocodile tears. Finally, Augustus returned, followed by a tall woman with dark hair in the usual attire for servants - a dark blue dress and an apron.

"What is it, Mrs Grimsley?"

"Ah, Carla. Petra is acting up again. Take her to the back room upstairs and don't let her out until supper."

"Understood, Ma'am." Carla curtsied. She strode over to the small girl, pushing past her honey locks and gripping her ear sharply. Petra let out a yell of pain as she was dragged out of the room and up the two flights of stairs. When they reached the back room, Carla lightly pushed the frail thing inside, nearly grazing her nose on the large, canopy double bed. It hurt her to act so unkind to such a defenceless child. Knowing, at home, she had a baby of her own and it never felt right to lock her up or deprive her of dinner.

"Miss Petra, you must stop getting into trouble," she whispered harshly. "I cannot keep up with these shenanigans you pull! Any more and you'll be sent back to the orphanage. You don't want that, do you?"

Petra shook her head.

"Exactly. Listen here... I understand she treats you quite unfairly, but you owe a lot to Mrs Grimsley. She is your father's sister, after all. Family. She didn't have to take you in as one of her own, but she did, and you're abusing that privilege."

"This is not a privileged; it's a nightmare and I hate it."

"You watch your mouth or I won't be bringing you any more gingerbread after bedtime when the Mrs sends you away without a meal."

"But..."

"No!"

Petra's head dropped sadly. Carla was assertive, but the most motherly type figure she ever had. Her mother died when she was small - too small to remember her. She loved her father dearly, but he too passed away not long ago. Often, Petra dreamt of the days when her father would take her hand and buy her sweets. He would hold her when she fell and scraped her knee, and he would read her bed time stories. The most important thing her father did for her, was that he made her feel loved more than anyone or anything in the world.

When he died, it felt like a hole had been torn in the universe. More specifically, her heart. Mr Bruno Ral's estranged sister, Mrs Hilda Ral-Grimsley, was asked in her brother's Will that should Petra become an orphan then he would request for her to be placed under the care of the Grimsleys. It was stated that Mrs Grimsley must treat her as her own daughter.

Petra pointed accusingly at the bed behind her.

"My father died in that bed! There are ghosts in this room!"

"Don't be so silly, Miss Petra."

With that, Carla shut the door, locking the little redhead inside.

* * *

><p>"Petra! Petra, wake up! Your aunt calls for you,"<p>

Two pale, heavy lids opened slowly to reveal the bright red, rough carpet beneath her. She had fallen asleep on the floor, too afraid to sleep near her father's death bed. When Augustus and Orla were punished, it was rare, and they were never sent to their own father's death bed a few doors down. It was as if her aunt knew that it would torment her to be placed in such a room, feeling like an wild fox, trapped in a cage, poked with sticks.

The door opened with a creak and Carla entered, shaking her head disapprovingly at the sleeping little girl, curled on the floor. She gently picked her up by the arm, hurrying her back down to the dining room where Mrs Grimsley spent most of her time.

Inside of the dining room, the atmosphere seemed eerie and tense. It was the same feeling when she was brought in to be told her father was deathly ill. Her heart ached in her chest for a moment, but that was when she noticed that they had a visitor.

"Mr Ackerman, this is the one." Petra's aunt stood, pointing her long nail.

The gentleman stood sternly in the corner of the room dressed in all black. His hands were neatly folded behind his back, as though he were hiding something. Petra shied away from him behind Carla as his small, sunken grey eyes stared at her. His brow was large and low; his jaw, thick, square and rimmed with a chin strap of a beard which met with his side burns. Petra was surprised at how old he looked - the amount of wrinkles on his skin was barely hidden by the shadowed trilby he wore on his head. When he spoke, the gravelly noise made the young girl cringe.

"She's not very tall."

"Do not be fooled," Mrs Grimsley gestured to the older man, the pair of them walking closer to Petra. "She is as evil as they come. Carla, leave us a moment and take the children with you."

Carla hurried out with Augustus and Orla, shutting the three inside of the dining room. The crackling of the fire in the background nerved Petra even more.

"Girl," Mr Ackerman addressed vigorously. "Do you know who I am?"

"No, sir."

"My name is Kenny Ackerman. State your name, girl."

"Petra Ral, sir."

"How old are you, Miss Ral?"

"Nine."

"And are you a naughty girl?"

Petra shook her head, causing her aunt's face to burst into flames.

"Do you know what happens to naughty girls, Miss Ral?"

"They go to Hell, sir."

"And what must we do to avoid going to Hell?"

"Stay in good health and do not die."

"Oh, my!" Mrs Grimsley turned away, her hand placed dramatically over her mouth, clearly embarrassed by her niece's answer. Kenny Ackerman seemed calm, though his thin mouth twitched at her response. In reply, his voice became a lot harsher. He pointed to the ground in front of him.

"Come hither." When she delayed, he became angry. "Now, girl! Miss Ral, do you read your bible?"

"Yes."

"Every day?"

"Not every day, sir."

"Shocking. Disturbing. Children should be reading daily."

"I do read, sir."

"Devilish stories, most probably. Do you enjoy the bible?"

"No. I think it is boring."

Mrs Grimsley made the dramatic gasp again, as Mr Ackerman shook his head, turning away for a moment.

"I have a son," he began. "He is much older than you - a good ten years perhaps. When he was a boy I made him recite the bible to me. After his mother died he was to name and sing of the three Goddesses morning and night. If he didn't, he was beaten with a belt and sent to bed without food. Now he is a working man. An independent man. Children should be shaped by their elders correctly, and I hear from your benefactress that you hit her children, is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hitting is very unladylike, Miss Ral. Women should grow to be angelic and well-mannered. You will never marry, Petra. Because you are shaped to be unlovable."

"I am not unlovable because my father said so."

"Your father was a fool!" screamed Mrs Grimsley.

"He was not!" Petra spat back. "You're a fool! You're a horrible witch!"

"Quiet, girl!" Mr Ackerman hollered, scaring Petra half to death. Mrs Grimsley almost fainted at the insult thrown at her, dramatically fanning herself down. "You are obviously possessed by the devil with such a tongue in that rotten mouth. Mrs Grimsley, I agree to your request. I will clear a place for her at my school at once."

"Thank you so very kindly, Mr Ackerman. She needs to be saved. Did you hear that, Petra? Mr Ackerman is taking you away. You're going to a boarding school far from here."

"I'm glad! I hate you, and I hate it here!"

"Such a bricky, vile girl." Mr Ackerman sneered. He charged toward the tiny girl, gripping her upper arm roughly. Petra flinched in retaliation, the sharp, shooting pains travelling up to her shoulder as he squeezed her limb, once again being dragged against her will out of the dining room.

Her aunt had turned away hysterically, holding her hands against her reddening cheeks, still burnt with anger toward the red haired child. Mr Ackerman pulled them into the gardens where the cisp, chill air was apparent. It froze her toes painfully, and Petra mentally scolded herself for not wearing socks with the thin ballet shoes she had on. In front of her was a horse and carriage, presumably to take her away to Mr Ackerman's supposed school. Inside, she was battling her emotions. A part of her was excited for the adventure and longed to be away from the poisonous people she was made to call her family. But on the other half, Mr Ackerman frightened her to the bone, and she wasn't much fond of religious studies.

She had no family left.

Her father was dead, and she refused to consider those people inside Grimsley manor-house her blood relation any longer. No one was going to miss her. Carla had her own husband at home and her own baby boy. She would not cry for the petite girl. What was there left to do except take upon the invitation willingly?

And that, she did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Pain becomes our journey**

* * *

><p>Mr Ackerman had assured her that they would arrive upon nightfall, enough time to get some sleep before the new day ahead. Unfortunately, when the carriage parked the sleepy girl rubbed her tired eyes, squinting at the brightness that peaked through the curtain. It was reaching 5 am and the other little girls would be waking up by now, a church bell clanging from somewhere inside of the small building.<p>

Petra stared for a moment, the sunrise glistening against her eyes, causing hues of yellow and gold to shine through. Her gaze was broke by the carriage door opening, her small frame tumbling out with force as she fell to the muddy grass below. She heard a sneer from above but quickly rose before they could comment, biting her lip as her dirt-grazed knees stretched out and stung.

"Mr Ackerman has business to tend to. He's leaving you with us, Miss."

The sharp, strict voice came from a tall woman with a crooked nose, her deathly skin stretched and speckled with age. She wore a long, black dress with a collar so prude you could barely tell she even had a neck. Her eyes stared down at Petra like a vulture would as it circles its prey. The little girl cowered again, her eyebrows creasing. Why were all of these adults so frightening? It dreaded her for what was to come regarding her new school.

"I am the Head Teacher here at Hermina," she went on, headed toward the tiny building as the carriage pulled away. On top of the door frame, though as small as it was, a plank of wood had been nailed up: 'Hermina Institute for Girls'. Petra followed after the older woman obediently. "My name is Miss Alexandria. As expected, you will refer to all your superiors as Ma'am. The girls rise at the crack of sunrise and you are to be on your best behaviour."

The females entered the building, Miss Alexandria's laced boots echoing throughout the narrow, but spacey, hallways. The rooms were chill as though they had stepped into a frozen wonderland; a strong unspoilt smell bleached her nostrils where the walls had recently been coated in something waxy. In the background, rustling and faffing about could be heard - presumably the other little girls getting washed and dressed for breakfast, followed by their morning classes. It was not a bother to be getting up early, but rather than getting up at free will, it would be forced undeniably. Neatly folded, starchy clothes were thrust into her arms that somewhat resembled the servants' clothes back at Grimsley manor. Miss Alexandria darted her eyes toward the empty room down the hall, suggesting she should get washed and dressed as well. Petra did as she was told, without another thought. What else could a little girl think of?

Transportation from one horrible place to another had become something normal and expected at this point. After losing her father it was straight to the orphanage, then straight to her aunt's and now straight to the boarding school. Her life seemed to be placed in the hands of the oppressors, passing her aggressively around like some sort of rotten doll that no one truly loved or wanted.

Bubbles of anguish were building up inside of her slowly - surely not in good health at all for a child. Though she was exceptionally brilliant at talking to herself rationally and avoiding certain conflicts, it was this anger that flared her fiery traits, so red and wild it could match the thick, straight locks on her head. She was not an unintelligent child and would most definitely do well. Her late family having migrated from Berlin meant she was fluent in both English and German. Instrumentally, she could play a little bit of piano thanks to her father, and naturally she enjoyed sketching and painting on a professional level. She was book-smart and physically active as well, happy to leap off a chair, run outside, race the boys and do a cartwheel. It would not be a difficult task proving to the teachers at Hermina that she was just as capable as any of the other girls. However, they seemed to be interested in ladies who could smile and look pretty, not talk and sound witty.

"Hurry up, girl!" Snapped that same cruel voice as she rapped repeatedly on the door.

Petra straightened out the long, dark blue dress, tightened the frilled white apron and joined one of her new benefactresses back in to the hallway. Girls of all ages and sizes had begun to pool into the hallway, chattering to themselves excitedly, gripping each other's hands and jumping up and down. Miss Alexandria sneered, slamming the empty room's door shut with a bang as they awaited the Head Mistress' arrival. It was quite blatant that the girls were semi-malnourished, their aprons tightened around their tiny waists and their wrists so thin you could fit them through a ring. Times were hard and money was tight, but it was apparent that Mr Ackerman did not care for the 'angelics' as much as he boasted. For they were dying slowly in education, and he was nowhere to be seen.

Scurrying to join the queue of young ladies, she could not help but eavesdrop on a particular conversation taking place in front of her. Two girls with hushed voices exchanged replies.

"I hear Betty is Mr Ackerman's favourite," one girl said.

Another gasped. "Then she's getting worms in her stockings tonight."

They laughed mischievously.

Her eyebrows raised. So Mr Ackerman was clearly not a favourable person at this institution. That wasn't hard to believe. Petra felt an inward sigh, happy to know it wasn't only herself that was probably picked on by Mr Ackerman. She was hopeful, of course. Trains of thoughts and mindless babble was cut short as a set of boots made their way down the restricted marble staircase, a feminine hand sliding along the banister as she went. The woman was of average height and her short, curly locks reminded Petra of the photos of her mother she had seen many years ago when her father would open up his wallet. Her golden eyes travelled up the woman's long jaded dress until she reached the head. She was smiling rather warmly at the girls, who had all quietened down and stood up straight, their faces simultaneously smiling. It must had been the resemblance of the representation of her mother she only knew of, but a delightful feeling could be felt throughout Petra's own chest and heart.

"Girls, I have brilliant news," her voice like cream. "As with yesterday morning's fault, with the vegetable soup you were served at lunch, I could not sleep knowing you all must be famished. For breakfast this morning we have prepared you bread and cheese!"

The girls erupted in cries of happiness, which was quickly silenced by Miss Alexandria's screeches of displeasure, earning her a look of disapproval from the kind lady in the green dress. She supposed that the woman in the green dress must be a superior to Miss Alexandria, her powerful status quite obvious. Petra dare take another gander at her new idol, filled with embarrassment when the woman was staring her oceanic hues straight into her, though not in any means of ferocity. The green lady gestured her index finger, triggering it back and forth. Miss Alexandria had started to move along the other girls into the classroom for their quick breakfast, which meant it was most definitely her she was indicating toward. Stepping into the woman's direct line of vision, Petra looked up loyally, her eyes glistening in the ever-growing light of this morning.

"Are you new?" She asked.

"Yes."

"I was not informed."

"Oh."

She dismissed any awkwardness with a shake of her head. "Never mind that. It was a shock, you see, I am the Head Mistress of this school. What is your name?"

"Petra. Petra Ral."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she smiled warmly, which Petra felt obliged to return. "I'm Mrs Alfred."

Forgetting her manners, she shook her ginger locks in sudden awareness, crossing one small foot over the other and bending her knees to give Mrs Alfred a polite curtsy. Fortunately, she was not all boyish and unmannered.

"It's nice to meet you, too."

"Ah, how very sweet. Would you care for some breakfast as well, Miss Ral?"

"Yes, please. I'm very hungry."

"I'd imagine you would after such a long journey," she gently placed her hand against the small girl's back, drifting their way into the classroom to join the others. "I apologise on behalf of Mr Ackerman if he gave you any trouble - he's not the most praised person around these parts. Do beware of slandering his name, though - it is just as cowardly to judge an absent person as it is wicked to strike a defenceless one. Only the ignorant and narrow-minded gossip, for they speak of persons instead of things."

Petra nodded in approval, agreeing with Mrs Alfred's views, come what may. Once they reached the classroom each and every circular table was filled to the brim with bunches of the schoolgirls, pushing each other out of the way aggressively to get to the bread and cheese piled on to the tables. Much to Miss Alexandria's dismay. Petra threw out her angelic façade once she caught the strong scent of cheddar which burnt her nostrils sensually, her empty stomach growling with might as she spotted the freshly baked bread. Its sponginess and just-out-the-oven warmth drifted toward her and created waterfalls of saliva to build up in her mouth.

Desperately, she nudged two other girls out the way of the nearest table as they happily ate their cheese slices. She picked up a handful of white cheddar and stuffed it into her mouth greedily, reaching for some bread to tear at.

Miss Alexandria turned away in disgust, Mrs Alfred giggling to herself at the hungry girls. Her own views seemed to be that of much difference when compared with both Mr Ackerman and Miss Alexandria.

* * *

><p>"<em>The clever cat eats cheese and breathes down rat holes with baited breath<em>..."

"What was that?"

"Hm?"

Petra stared down at the girl mumbling to herself. They had long finished breakfast and morning lessons, now allowed to play outside for an hour. The girl Petra thought was talking to herself was in fact gripping a book in her hands, her legs tucked up to her chest. Petra continued to stare quizzically at the girl, mesmorised by her beautiful dark skin, slick, black hair and freckles, but pulled back when the girl became nervous.

"What do you want?" She asked, almost a bit frightened of the small child.

"You were talking to yourself, were you not?" Petra took it upon herself to sit next to her on the low stone wall.

"No, I was reading... here," she handed Petra the book. "Do you like to read?"

Petra nodded, handing the book back. "Yes."

"What is your name?"

"I'm Petra."

"My name is Ilse. Are you a new pupil?"

"I have only started today."

"That makes sense." Ilse had a very soothing voice that was enjoyable to hear.

Petra pushed further. "How long have you been here?"

"Two years. I have no mother, and my father re-married."

"I have no mother, either. My father is dead. It was my aunt who sent me here."

"I see..." she looked down thoughtfully. "I suppose you enjoyed breakfast earlier."

"Yes, it was wonderful. Do you often get treated like that?"

"No, not at all, actually. Mr Ackerman rarely visits us, but when he does, he makes sure we are to be fed vegetable soup. Nobody here likes the vegetable soup that is made. I have a hunch they like to add rat poison."

"Then why do you not argue? Why is everyone so silent?"

"Calm minds bring inner strength. That's very important for good health."

"I could not sit and be so passive. Should they try to poison me or hit me I will burst with anger."

"It is better to be kind to your persecutor and wake up knowing you are the better person, Petra."

The girls looked down for a moment, unsure of what to say next as the orange haired pixie thought over the oive skinned girl's words. It left a sweet feeling in her heart as though she had just been enlightened on something. Something that made sense. A similar feeling she had felt when Mrs Alfred spoke to her. Ilse fiddled with her book for a moment before Petra decided to break the silence once more.

"When were you born?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know if you're older than me. You're quite tall,"

Ilse laughed. "You are very small, aren't you?" To which Petra huffed. "Ha-ha! You're so very small and sweet, I can already tell I will take a likeness to you. I was born on the 21st July, what about you?"

"6th December."

"A winter born is usually cold as ice, yet you seem friendly enough."

"Perhaps we are meant to be friends."

"I would like that."

Ilse linked her fingers through Petra's, gripping each other's hands tightly. They smiled brightly at one another before a rippling pain scorched Ilse's chest, sending her into a wild fit of coughs. She brought her hand up to her mouth as a shield, eyes watering as the deathly coughs kept bursting through. Petra watched in worry and didn't speak until the coughing fit was over.

"Are you all right?"

"I am not very well. I feel okay. It's just a cough."

Before Petra could inquire further, Miss Alexandria shook her bony wrist. A bell on the end clanged louder than the large one that sit within their local church, signalling the end of play time.

* * *

><p>Months went by and Mr Ackerman had not yet returned. However, this was not a misfortune. It seemed anxiety wrecked the girls on whenever his next arrival would be, this being the longest he had ever stayed away from the very school he owned and funded - if funded could even be said. Most of the resources were provided by Mrs Alfred herself when she had the money. Miss Alexandria never changed and was happy to cane the girls for acting out or answering a question wrong. She, too, never was a favourite at the institute but nothing could compare to the girls' dislike for Mr Kenny Ackerman.<p>

Petra and Ilse's friendship burnt as bright as the sun on a scorching summer's day. They often enjoyed their time together - playing with the skipping ropes or enjoying a good book together. At night when it grew cold, Ilse would always accompany her friend.

"Oh, Petra!" She gasped in the night, lowering her voice to a whisper so as not to wake the other girls. "Your little feet are frozen. Here, climb into bed with me."

Rushing into the other's bed, a struggle with the blanket and quilt broke out as they wrapped it around each other, snuggling close. Ilse leaned down and pecked a gentle kiss on to Petra's pale cheek, causing an innocent blush to rise. They smiled, falling straight to sleep. Spending time with Ilse made Petra very happy. She had never experienced friendship with any other child her age before, and Ilse also fit into a similar motherly figure category with her kindness and protectiveness. Though, a grim worry grew within her - frightened for Ilse's ever-worsening cough that would suddenly burst out of nowhere. Mrs Alfred, too, was concerned and would often allow Ilse to sit inside her office and allow Petra to tend to her. The cough was apparently very sore and painful to her lungs and she seemed to be growing paler and emaciated as the days went on, unable to perform simple tasks due to her exhaustion.

The next morning was dry and icy and not so much because of the weather. During class they were informed of a surprise visit, a cry of groans eliciting from the girls - they knew just who it would be.

"He's here, he's here!" Exclaimed one of the maids rushing past the door frame.

"Sit down now, girls," Miss Alexandria ordered. They obeyed. "Get on with your work. Best behaviour or there'll be trouble."

The girls did as they were told, heads down and pencils scribbling as they wrote their mock letters and finished their drawings. A biting gust of wind entered the classroom, the muffled greetings between servant and headman followed by the echoing sound of footsteps nearing them. Heartbeats raced and breath quickened until that voice boomed.

"Good morning, Miss Alexandria."

"Good morning, Mr Ackerman."

They greeted without a smile. Mr Ackerman paced slowly among the working girls, trilby and cane in his leather gloved hands. He scowled at the children, all too frightened to peak at him. His very presence seemed to send waves of fear throughout the institute, but the fiery little girl sat, scribbling at her drawing of a robin perched on an icy branch, gritting her teeth with venom. Constant reminders swept through her head, however, of Mrs Alfred and Ilse's agreeable words. She should not be so angry, surely.

"Where is the tiny red goblin?"

"Sorry, sir?"

"The littlest one among them. Flaming hair. Where is she?"

"You must mean Petra Ral, sir." Miss Alexander gestured with a nod of her head.

Mr Ackerman patrolled further into the centre of the classroom, grey eyes burning into her. She stood - to be polite - curtsying at his presence. He waved a hand downward and she re-sat.

"Have you changed the shocking error of your ways, Miss Ral?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am glad to hear it. Would you care to name our three Goddesses? Prove you are worthy of their kingdom after death."

"Yes, sir. Maria, Rose, and Sina. Our Goddesses blessed be."

"You pray?"

"Every night, sir. May they have mercy on my wicked soul."

"May they indeed."

Mr Ackerman gave the impression of a man who enjoyed silencing a woman. It was apparent he felt comfortable and strong in the room full of tiny women, no sound to be heard, just the peaceful scratch of pencil on paper. That was until a familiar sound broke through, Mr Ackerman's head spinning with fury at the disruption. Petra panicked. It was Ilse, her hand over her mouth as she coughed violently for a good thirty seconds before wiping her salivated mouth on her blue cotton sleeve and shying away from the burning eyes. Mr Ackerman gripped his cane, stamping it to the stone ground which echoed throughout the classroom.

"Stand, girl!" He bellowed before screeching a stool along the floor. "Stand!"

Ilse unwillingly stood, her head low. She shuffled quickly over to Mr Ackerman, stepping atop the stool he had dragged into the middle of the class. He stood behind her then began to circle her like a shark in the darkest of waters.

"State your name."

"Ilse Langnar, sir."

"For that rude interruption you can stand for the remainder of my lecture."

Ilse stood sadly, her head lowered, purple bags swelled as she attempted to hold back her tears of humiliation. It was a never ending burn inside of her chest at this point, but she refused to not act brave, for she had someone to live for now, and to set a good example to. Not as a pupil, or a young lady, but as a human being. Her head lifted and back straightened, eyes set forward toward her little redhead in order to send a silent message: do not fight for me. Do not. It took everything in Petra's power, clearly, not to rise from the table and scream and shout and stomp and kick and argue. But Ilse knew better. She would make Ilse proud of her. She would not...

* * *

><p>A week from Mr Ackerman's departure the typhoid fever had broken out. The cause: unsanitary conditions and a lack of nutrition. Many girls died and many were sent home to relatives to avoid catching the fever. It was believed that the outbreak was caused by none other than Ilse Langnar, who had been on her death bed ever since she had come down from that stool.<p>

Petra wished to see her, isolated from her best friend for too long to bare.

"Miss Ral, where are you going?" One of the maids had asked, dabbing her wet eyes as two men carried out a casket - presumably holding another dead girl.

"I must see Ilse, she needs me!"

"Miss Ral - wait!"

She took off, headed to the room Ilse was to be treated in only to find the room empty, Mrs Alfred stood weeping in the corner, a handkerchief draped over her fingers. Petra froze.

"Where is Ilse?"

Mrs Alfred turned, her lower lip trembling. Her voice was grave, and there was regret and sympathy painted on her expression. "O-Oh, Petra... Ilse has died."

Just as there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather to cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands - there was no one once more. Loneliness enveloped her soul and she was stood in darkness without a light. Her world had crumbled at those last three words and it seemed she passed the only meaning of friendship she had ever had just like that. If there was no Ilse, then she would live for her. She would make her proud as a human being, her spirit watching over like the angel that she was. A beautiful example. A wonderful friend too kind for words to express.

Petra never got to see Ilse's body, to lie next to and kiss her bronzed skin. In later life, perhaps this would be viewed as a good thing. A less reminder that her only friend was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Ackerman**

* * *

><p><em>It had been twelve years since Ilse's passing. Mr Ackerman maintained his position despite the deaths of so many children. It was a matter of family connections, rather than a decipher of how well a benefactor he was. I remained a pupil at Hermina for six more years, and for the six years that followed I became a teacher. It was a job that filled me with joy and a chance to treat the children the way Mrs Alfred had treated us. After Mrs Alfred left the institute, to move to London with her husband, I became aware of how long I had been imprisoned in such a place.<em>

_I longed for change._

* * *

><p>Rustling through the damp newspaper eagerly, Petra scanned the smudged ink as though she were investigating a murder scene. She dared not miss out a word nor a blob of ink just in case it held information that could be considered valuable to her. Her fair eyebrows creased with irritation as her orange locks continued to fall in her face, having to repeatedly tuck a handful of strands behind one ear. She had not grown much in all her years, possibly just about reaching 5 feet and 2 inches. Still petite and slim boned, face still heart-shaped, plain and full of innocence. Her short, red hair had not changed at all, reaching her chin in a neat cut.<p>

With no luck on searching she abruptly sat back while puffing out a lungful of hot hair. It was reasonably warm inside of the small office - the children next door silently eating their lunch - though, the rain had begun to pick up outside, tapping against her window soothingly.

A little bit fed up, she chucked the browning paper down on to her desk. It was almost impossible to read most of it, anyway. The postman had not knocked and it was left outside to dirty, fortunately Petra spotted it from across the yard, saving it before the rain had become too heavy.

Life had become very plain. She had thought to herself on several occasions that that was a lie because wasn't it always plain? Not necessarily, it was just never exciting to the point she would be gripping the edge of her seat, or go to bed in silken sheets, excited for what the next day might bring. For Petra, life was a routine. Go to bed early, wake up early, prepare the school work, wait for the girls to finish their breakfast, and then do her job. Ever since Petra's arrival at Hermina, Mr Ackerman seemed to stray from the school more and more. A cruel thought crossed her mind that perhaps he was frightened of her - which he so should be. She still disliked him. But the truthful answer was that since the outbreak of typhus twelve years ago the council had investigated the school's water system, fixing the damage to the pipes that ran below. However, Mr Ackerman had on one or two occasions slyly muttered in Petra's presence about 'witchcraft' and the sort. She smirked. How foolish.

A change of scenery sounded like a good idea, which was precisely why she had been looking through the news papers the last few weeks in hopes of job applications. Surely a governess was wanted elsewhere. Advertisements were the only way to get out and experience something new, for she had no friends to help her.

It seemed as though fate had Miss Ral in favour, her eyes wandering for just a second, across the table, over the closed blotchy papers... when something caught that starry hazel's attention. Immediately the paper was in her hands once again, folded and held up against the window as she read in anticipation:

**| GOVERNESS WANTED |**  
><strong>| WELL EDUCATED YOUNG LADY |<strong>  
><strong>| LINGUISTICS AND LITERATURE PREFERRED |<strong>

**ENQUIRE MISS ZOE HANGE AT ONCE**

**Please write to Trost Castle**

In one moment the paper was sprawled out on her writing desk, a quill and ink pot at the ready. She scurried to her chair, fresh paper and envelope in hand. This was a one in a lifetime opportunity and she wouldn't let it go to waste. Trost? Petra was so sheltered in her later years that she had never heard of such a place. She had never even left Hermina for that matter. It mattered not, for an adventure was an adventure and anxiety would not get in the way. Her chest filled with excitement as she dipped the quill into the navy ink.

_Trost Castle_

_22 November _

_Dear Miss Hange_

_I am writing to you in regards of the role of Governess. I have extensive experience in this line of work after attending and functioning as an employed teacher at Hermina Institution for Girls, located in South Hermina. _

_I have enclosed proof of my qualifications._

_It is apparent that this is quite a journey, but I am more than happy to travel._

_Thank you_

_Yours sincerely_

_Miss Petra Ral_

Her signature was scribbled neatly at the bottom, tucked inside of the envelope along with documents proving that she was eligible to work and signed papers confirming that she could read and write in English and German. As soon as the rain stopped this letter would go straight into the postbox and off it would ship. It was ever so exhilarating. Just thinking about her new life in Trost privately tutoring children was enough to make her head spin and stomach lurch.

* * *

><p>"Miss Alexandria!"<p>

A grey haired old woman with her signature crooked nose and now-hunched back turned around, veined skin illuminating off the flicker of candlelight.

"Good evening, Miss Ral, how can I help you?" Her voice so recognisably cold and unamused. "You took it upon yourself to post the letters last week. It slipped my mind to ask why."

"Yes. I thought I might - I had a letter I wanted to post myself, for luck."

"Oh? Do tell," she sat down in her wooden chair, long nails tapping along the arm. She had not changed in all the years, but she had aged remarkably fast of all things. Skin sagged and bones visible. Eyes sunken and lips thinning.

Petra began to speak but quickly covered her mouth, turning toward the dark wooden door and shutting it tightly by twisting the silver metal handle. "I have written to a job advertisement in the news paper and they have replied to me!" She turned around over-joyed, squeezing a piece of paper in one hand as she struggled not to jump up and down excitedly.

"A what!?"

"A job advertisement as a governess for a young girl at Trost Castle. £30 - that's double what I get now, Miss Alexandria. Oh, won't you be happy for me? I am seeking out work far from here and ready to continue my life's journey!"

"Well, of course I am happy for you, Miss Ral," she raised a near invisible brow. "But I am assuming you want me to lay the news on Mr Ackerman?"

"If you would be so kind... it would mean the world to me. Mr Ackerman would be over the moon if he were to hear I have left finally."

"That he might."

"Will you do it for me... please?"

Miss Alexandria contemplated for a moment, eyes cast aside to stair at a wobbly table leg in the corner. Petra's heart sped to the speed of a mouse, her gleaming smile now fell into a frown, but her doll-like eyes were still wide. The older woman looked up with her own scornful eyes.

"I shall."

Petra burst. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so-so much! I shall write to you and the children!"

"When do you leave?"

"I was hoping to get a carriage first thing tomorrow morning before the girls wake up. I hear Trost is a number of miles away."

"Yes, it is. If you leave by four in the morning you won't arrive in Trost until the afternoon. You'd best eat a large breakfast."

"Oh, I shall, I am so thrilled for this golden chance!"

Miss Alexandria stood then, even shrivelled by her crooked back managed to tower over her junior. Her hand extended respectfully to which Petra happily took, a wide crease of a smile on her face. They shared their goodbyes and parted ways.

...

The carriage arrived the next day at the crack of dawn. It was a foggy morning, dark as anything, but as the daylight came about the fog began to clear. Petra sat back into the coach, tightening her thick, green cloak around her body and straightening her one and only dress. Being a poor woman, she could only afford one dress, one cloak, and one pair of shoes - the laced black military boots had lasted her a good, long time, though. Even dozing off for a few hours had not really passed the time, the day now bright and cheerful in atmosphere but the sky as grey as regular.

"We've reached Trost, Miss Ral," called the horseman from the front of the carriage, who was a young boy with a long face and large teeth, though notably handsome. "I'll take you around to the front of the castle."

"Thank you!" She called back, peaking out of the coach's curtain at the mounts of greenery. They were slowly approaching Trost Castle. She grinned like a maniac, smile lines appearing and gripping her glove clad hands together with pleasure. The sounds of the horses' hooves sped up as they circled the tonnes of neatly gardened flowers and shrubbery, headed up the pale brick path to the large home. She wondered what its owner would be like - Miss Hange. Would she be a strict woman like Miss Alexandria or a kind woman like Mrs Alfred? She quickly gripped the seat as the carriage came to a stop all of a sudden and she realised that they were there, right in front of the castle. Before Petra had the chance to thank the driver once again he had politely opened the door for her stepping aside so a young maid could greet them hello.

Petra nodded her quick thanks to the driver who stood by the dark haired maid as she smiled nervously at the governess. "Good afternoon, Miss, would you like us to take your cloak? We will escort you inside at once," her voice was very youthful and eager.

"No thank you, I would love to meet with Miss Hange right away if that's all right,"

The maid nodded. "Right away, Miss,"

"Ah, excuse me," Petra went on, to which both the maid and driver looked at her a little confused. "May I know your names if I am to be staying here?"

They both seemed to further their puzzlement, as though kindness was not normally straightforward for them. The driver was the first to break a smile, pointing a thumb to himself obnoxiously. "Jean Kirschtein," he stated.

The maid made her mouth into a small 'o', looking back and forth between driver and governess before she shook her head and smiled apologetically. "Mina Carolina," she shoo'd Jean away, who rolled his eyes and did so, before gesturing for the governess to follow her inside of the castle. Petra already felt a friendly connection, even if it was for the servants so far. A friend was a friend. "Are you sure you're quite comfortable carrying your cloak, Miss?"

"Yes, thank you, Mina. Where are my things? And where is Miss Hange?"

"Jean is taking your box up to your new room, and I will call Miss Hange right away. Here," she waltzed into the drawing room where two large chairs were facing each other in front of the open fire. Petra sat in one, feeling terribly small in comparison to such a thing. "Make yourself comfortable. She will be with you shortly." Mina curtsied, leaving Petra to settle.

It was in fact just as big as she had pictured in her mind, the drawing room itself so brilliantly massive with a roaring fire and a drawn window that took up half the opposite wall. The colour scheme was of reds and browns and oranges, all warm colours that would surely be very toasty at night when it grew terribly frosty outside. The house was surprisingly well structured and modern for a castle. Double doors, a wide staircase that would most probably hold several floors with tonnes of rooms. Something that stood out to her was the impeccable cleanliness of the house, as though a speck of dust did not exist in such a place. Of course it shouldn't - Trost Castle was undeniably beautiful and warm. It already felt like home.

Pulled out of her trance suddenly by the double doors opening in a rude manner, Petra turned holding a hand to her heart.

"How do you do, Miss Ral!?" A hearty woman replied, balled fists as she marched into the room ecstatically. Petra was taken aback by her attitude - without question, this could not be Miss Hange, could it? Her brown hair messily tied up and foggy glasses pressed to the bridge of her nose, she had never seen anything like it. Her demeanour was careless, yet her house was spotless. She quickly joined Petra at the fireplace, sitting in the opposite chair and leaning forward with overwhelming joy, a sloppy and silly grin plastered over her lips which reminded her of a friendly puppy dog, especially with those massive, dark brown eyes. "I hope your journey wasn't prolonged - Jean drives so slowly, I swear...!"

"No, it was very comfortable and your driver and maid seem to be kind enough,"

"It must have been tedious, I'm sure! Are you not tired?"

"No, no, I assure you I am more than enthusiastic to settle in. You are Miss Hange, am I right?"

"Indeed I am, why do you ask?"

"Your home is lovely. When will I be meeting the youngest Miss Hange?"

"Eh!? My home? Youngest Miss Hange?" She leaned closer, ignoring the sparks of fire that crackled. "What on Earth are you talking about, Miss Ral?"

The governess gave a bewildered look, her fair eyebrows creasing together. "You are the owner of Trost Castle, are you not? And I am to tutor your daughter, no?"

Miss Hange seemed to find her questions absolutely hilarious, throwing her head back into a fit of laughter that escalated into quiet chortles as she wiped a tear from under her glasses. Petra kept her mouth ajar, astonished by this behaviour and confusion.

"No, you have it all wrong, Miss Ral," she began to explain. "Your pupil is Miss Ackerman."

"Ackerman!?" She screeched.

"Yes! This is Master Ackerman's home, not mine! Ha-ha! What a misunderstanding. I am merely the housekeeper, though a distant relative to the Ackermans - I prefer not to think about that." She struggled in fits of laughter again. Was this woman mad!?

"A-Ackerman? There must be some mistake..." an un-comfortableness began to rise at that name. Master Ackerman? Was this a trick to imprison her once more? Why had she come here? Oh, how stupid she was to leave Hermina - her safe haven. Oh, how foolish she had been...

Miss Hange's smile faded into a grave look of concern. "Why would there be a mistake, Miss Ral?"

"I attended Hermina, Mr Ackerman's funded school as a child. I worked there... I..."

"Yes, I know. That's why I picked you!"

"What!?" Petra stood up straight away, anguish sweeping over her face. "I spent my life tormented by him, I cannot stay in his home."

"But this isn't his home!"

"But he will return-"

"No no no," Miss Hange cut her off, also standing now as she waved her hand dismissively. She took a few steps closer to the smaller woman, calming herself in hopes of explaining. "The Master wouldn't allow him anywhere near this home, I promise you, for he holds a deep resentment towards his estranged father. You are safe from Mr Kenny Ackerman. This is his son's home, and your pupil is the Master's niece."

Petra gazed for a moment, blinking once or twice. "Kenny Ackerman's son is the owner of Trost Castle?"

"Precisely! He is away on business most days, which is why he requested I send out the governess advert for his niece."

"I see..." her voice low, eyes staring at the floor adjustably as she sat back down. "He is not on good terms with his father, you say?"

"No, absolutely hate each other."

"Oh."

"Mmhmm, terrible really. Well, I don't bring it up, it is best to stay civil with my employer. He is quite the touchy one if provoked."

What a strange circumstance this had turned out to be. She drove for miles only to be placed under the care of another Ackerman? Though, Miss Hange's certainty that Kenny Ackerman would not be welcomed into this home and was estranged from his own son gave her a little peace of mind in the most selfish way possible. She felt it be in her best interest to give them a chance, as Mina, Jean and Miss Hange all came across as kind and well-spirited. Her only duty was to tutor a Miss Ackerman for a wondrous amount of money. Just as Petra was about to speak, a sound of light footsteps could be heard from outside.

"Ah, it's Miss Ackerman at last! Did I mention she speaks little English?"

"No, you didn't."

"Oop, silly me. She is a polite and reserved girl, very well behaved. She is an orphan, though, as Mr Ackerman's sister - her mother - passed away in child birth. Her father, bless his soul, took his own life just months later. He was a German man and that's where Miss Ackerman was born."

Petra perked up, a smile appearing. "My family migrated from Berlin, I am fluent in German."

"Then you can easily translate for me, can't you!? That would be much help, I tell you."

The double doors creaked open and a girl as white as a ghost stepped in, her long, black hair trailing down her back and grey eyes - that grimly reminded Petra of her ex-benefactor - glowed in the daylight that shone through the window. She was very stiff, not too animated in her movement. When she spoke, it was in a very dry tone, though her voice was girlish and feminine. She couldn't have been older than twelve.

"Wie bitte? Ist mein Onkel zu Hause?"

Miss Hange turned toward Petra. "What did she say!?"

"She asked if Mr Ackerman is home yet."

"Go on, talk to her!" She urged.

Petra stood, walking closer to the girl. "Hallo... Sehr erfreut," she smiled. "Ich bin Ihre Gouvernante."

"What did you say!?"

"I told her I am her governess and that it's nice to meet her."

"Oooh..."

"Wie heißen Sie?" Petra went on.

Miss Ackerman looked up, not by much, as she was quite a tall girl for her age and only an inch or so smaller than the governess. She blinked dryly. "Mikasa. Was ist mit dir?"

"Petra. Petra Ral."

"I knew what that meant!"

Mikasa cracked a smile at Miss Hange's silliness as she expressed herself so dramatically. Petra could not help but join them in their slight laughs. Serenely, she waltzed over to the young Ackerman's side and gently took her hand, which was returned in a gentle grip.

"Come, Mikasa. We will start our lesson," she curtsied toward Miss Hange. "Thank you very much for your kindness."

Miss Hange bowed in return. "You are so very welcome! Good luck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Incomprehensible**

* * *

><p>The clock struck five o' clock as Petra cheerily made her way up the stairs, books in hand. Mikasa had been a pleasant student to teach, her manners and obedience were on point, just as Miss Hange had said. Her short time at Trost Castle had already turned out to be both interesting and wonderful and she had high hopes for the future ahead. Despite her positivity toward the situation she could still not shake the nervousness about meeting Kenny Ackerman's son. She was quite Mikasa was not even related - she definitely did not look nor act like an Ackerman. Kenny Ackerman was ignorant, presumptuous and chauvinistic, where Mikasa was reserved, tranquil and feminine. The only similarities she could identify were the cold, grey eyes and air of intimidation that was brought with their presence. Perhaps that was the Ackerman bloodline.<p>

It was rather unnerving to think about, so as she turned the handle to the miniature library on the second floor, Petra shook the thought. Miss Hange was inside gazing out the window with her hands broadly fixed to her hips.

"Miss Ral," she began without turning around. "How was your first lesson?"

"It was admirable,"

"Ha-ha! Wonderful. Mr Ackerman's visits are rare, but sudden, so I try to supply everything as best I can. He complains and whines no matter what anyway."

"Is Mr Ackerman a picky man?"

"He has a gentleman's taste and a neurotic personality. You might find that the castle is faultless - Mr Ackerman does love a clean home. Ha,"

"Do you like him? Is he a very nice man?"

"Oh yes," she laughed, stifling another display of hysterical fits. "He is respected by all. I have no reason to dislike such a generous man, excluding his odd habits and remarks."

"Where does he travel to?"

"All over the world, he has seen a great deal of adventures I'd say. Most often going abroad and not returning to Trost for a number of time." Miss Hange sighed, facing away from the window so that she could look at Petra.

"Will we get along?"

"I should think so, he is not unkind per say. Although, his personality is hard to read. At times you may be confused whether he is earnest or mocking you."

"I see. I will take guard."

"Hm," Miss Hange brushed herself down, stepping toward the smaller girl. "Come, let me show you to your bedroom. It's the one next to mine!"

She put a hand to Petra's shoulders, leading her out of the library, into the corridor and across the hall until they came to the spare bedroom. Petra stepped inside merrily, admiring the white lace curtains which daylight streamed through beautifully. The bed was made to an exquisite taste and on the other wall stood a large wardrobe - though she would have no need for all that space with her lack of clothing.

"Is it to your tastes?"

"I have never seen anything like it before. I'm stunned."

"Is that good?"

"Yes, I'm so happy to be staying here. Thank you."

"You're very welcome!" Miss Hange strode over to the double bed, the large set of keys attached to her hip dangling and ringing like chimes. She scraped her tanned hands along the bed sheets, smoothing them out comfortably. Petra hesitated a moment, her semi-valiant nature edging her from inside.

"Miss Hange?" She turned to face Petra. "Would it be possible to explore the third floor?"

She froze.

Miss Hange's facial expression seemed to drop and Petra instantly regretted her question. What had she said wrong? Whatever it was, she felt quite foolish underneath the glare that the brunette was magnifying through her thick glasses. Perhaps it was something private, something belonging to the Master, but what could be so important for her to paint such an expression? It soon faded and Miss Hange's usual goofy grin was replaced, though Petra wasn't surprised at the nervous shine in her eyes.

"I-I don't believe that's a good idea,"

"Why not?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Miss Hange shuffled, looking to the corner of her eye. She looked seemingly defeated, as though there was no real reason. It could be seen as rude and nosy, she accepted. But she needn't, for Miss Hange licked her lips and huffed. "All right. Let's go."

...

The third floor was much darker than anywhere else in the house, for lack of candlelight. It reminded Petra of some of the rooms back at Hermina. The corridor stretched out in a straight line, rooms on either side locked up, assuming Miss Hange had the keys to them all safely stapled to her hip. Any sane person would walk along the boring, empty hallway and wonder to themselves, 'why in the world would I want to be here?' but for some cause Petra was bemused by the forgotten floor. Miss Hange's candle stick flickered in the darkness as she turned around.

"All right, let's go now!" Her voice came out suddenly, as though she had seen a mouse and became frightened. The entirety of their quick visit the governess kept her eyes wide, while the taller woman seemed uneasy and drawn back, even letting the governess walk ahead, which was very odd for a host to do.

"Are you feeling well? Have you seen a ghost?"

"Ha-ha, don't be silly," her voice uncertain and off-edge. "No such thing as ghosts."

"Why does nobody inhabit this floor?"

"It's just... very cold, very dark... plenty rooms on the second and first floors. There's no need for it other than storage," she began to make her way down the spiralled stairs, creaking and croaking with each step. "I think there are rats up here, also."

Before they reached half way down the dusty steps, or Petra could query any more, a sound from above could be heard, sending chills down the smaller woman's spine. She stiffened, frozen in her spot, her palm sweaty and gripped to the rusty, metal railing. As a drip of cold sweat trailed down her neck in apprehension, her mind relaxing a bit, she recognised just what that disturbing sound was.

A woman's laughter.

Throaty and deranged, but definitely a woman's. She turned slowly to face Miss Hange, who was biting her lip in aggravation, eyes squinted shut as though she were waiting impatiently for the sound to clear.

"I'm definitely not hearing things..." Petra trailed.

"Uh... no... um..."

The laugh began again.

"Miss Hange, what is that!?"

"It's one of the servants - Isabel - I should have told you sooner-"

"Told me what!?"

"She's a drunk."

"A drunk?"

"Mmhmm. I'm sorry. She won't cause you any trouble, but she does make an awful lot of noi-"

That laugh again.

"Miss Hange, that is disturbing..."

"No no no, it's not! Uh, Isabel! Isabel!" When no one answered her cries, she gave the governess a nervous laugh. "Isabel! Here!"

Shortly, there was silence that prolonged a few seconds, then came the sound of footsteps, boot clad feet on loose wooden boards. The door nearest to them opened up suddenly and Petra found herself startled, hand to heart, as the door quickly shut again, a figure stepping into view. It was difficult to see at first due to the lack of lighting, but she could make out that the figure was fairly small and girlish with the manoeuvre of an inebriated man, her red scruffy hair in two low pig tails. She raised a bushy dark eyebrow, putting her slim wrists to her hips in annoyance to being disturbed. Petra was about to question Miss Hange when she noticed the clear brown bottle in the girl's hand. Perhaps she was a drunk after all.

"Stay quiet, Isabel," Miss Hange snapped. "I'm showing the governess around... eheh..."

Isabel took a sidelong glance at Petra, her blue-green eyes sleepy and sharp. As if Petra did not matter at all, Isabel returned her sight to Miss Hange, nodding once, then stormed back to the door she had come from, slamming it behind her aggressively. They jumped simultaneously at the sound.

"Let's hurry and go down," Miss Hange gave another nervous laugh. "It's too disagreeable up here and Isabel likes her beer." She gave another push against the governess' back, the pair of them hurrying down the steps until they reached the second floor again.

"It is a shame. I could sit and dream up there for hours, it was so silent and peaceful until I heard that laughter."

"I would not go up there again if I were you. Mr Ackerman wouldn't be very happy about it either. Isabel tells him everything, you see, they're good friends."

"I understand."

* * *

><p>Later that evening, before the sun had set, Petra began roaming the gardens and admiring the beautiful work that had been performed. The entire surroundings of Trost Castle were green gardens. Humongous trees circled the grounds, laced with colourful flowers of all kinds and bushes that sprung delicious looking underdeveloped blackberries and strawberries. Mina had told her that in the summertime they would be ripe and they could pick them for dessert.<p>

After Miss Hange's warning and the unwelcome feeling she got from Isabel, the drunken maid, it left an awful taste in her mouth. Although she was still particularly curious about Trost's Master, it had softened the information to know he considered one of his maids a friend of all things. Especially considering she seemed to be the recluse, intoxicated maid who was rarely seen anywhere other than the third floor.

Still, her dauntless personality desired experience. Her cold feet wandering through the damp vines, her green cloak still draped over her shoulders. It was cold and she had started to wander a little too far into the greenery, the trees becoming taller and the sky commencing a light blue cast where twilight was about to fall. Some birds, however, were not meant to be caged.

"Hewie!"

Petra spun around, a low voice in the distance calling out. It was then that reality hit her and she realised it was getting quite late. Miss Hange would be getting worried and nightfall was already casting shadows. If she wandered too far she could get herself hurt, too.

"Hewie!"

That voiced called again. She stood idle for a few moments, curiosity once again taking over her bodily functions. Soon enough, a snowy German Shepherd bounced out from behind the trees, barking with pleasure. Friendly enough it seemed as it jumped into the mud, its tail wagging madly, dirt staining the white paws. The voice called out again and Petra assumed it was the owner of the dog, taking it upon herself to check its collar. As she suspected, 'Hewie' was engraved in the tag.

She stood straight, ear pricking. Now what was that? Her head turned to the same direction, a clicking sound approaching and getting louder the longer she stood there. Hooves, maybe? A light turned on in her head, realising the sudden danger. She went to take a step out of the horse's way but it was too late, the colossal black stallion bursting out of the trees so powerfully all she could do was stand there helpless. She let out an inaudible gasp.

The horse neighed at its blockage, but she was fortunate for now. The rider being doubtlessly skilled as he called out to stop, pulling on the reins at the last minute so that the horse drew back on its hind legs, making a sound of frustration.

Petra's heart accelerated at the mess before her she had caused, the horse lashing out in fear at the sudden stop. The rider made a jump to the side before the horse could throw him off itself and Petra cringed as his left ankle hit the ground and twisted painfully, cursing under his breath.

"Are you all right, sir!?" She screamed once the horse had calmed.

He hobbled toward his horse, gripping the reins and gritting his teeth, infuriated. Petra worried, biting her lip and running to his assistance, but was stopped by his hand shooing her off violently.

"Stand aside." He ordered coldly. "It's only a sprain."

She remained before him half-witted and mouth agape, the irritation on his face quite apparent. "Let me assist you to mount your horse, at the least."

Hesitating, still gripped to the reins, he cursed under his breath again, gesturing an arm for her to take. Petra delicately slung his arm over her narrow shoulders, helping him to foot the saddle and climb back on to his black beauty. He huffed, obviously a bit shaken up as well, but the way he stared down at her struck anything but vulnerability into her heart. He was certainly not a ghost, though extraordinarily pale even in the growing darkness. He seemed a wealthy man by his attire, yet her nerves were unhinging at his presence. For a while she thought she had lost her voice gazing up at this master of a man who radiated arrogance and privacy.

"Where are you residing?" He asked, a calmer voice taken over, though he still looked ready to murder someone.

"Trost Castle,"

He raised an eyebrow. "Trost Castle?"

"Yes," she nodded, a little confused at the disbelief in his tone. "I am a governess there."

"Ah." He looked away, re-gripping the reins.

Petra was about to quiz him, but he was quick to signal the stallion, riding past her and off into the darkness with Hewie happily chasing behind, a bark echoing through the trees as if to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>Back at the castle, Petra numbly changed into the house slippers Mina had provided, thankful as her boots were soaked through and through with the mud outside. She would have to invest her first pay check into a new pair. Her hands combed through her fiery locks neatly so that they curtained her clear, plain face as it were. Though she did feel a nuisance to everyone at times she decided to shake it off to a lack of confidence in herself, and she was to ask more questions to Miss Hange at once.<p>

As she entered the drawing room - her favourite room in the castle for all of its qualities - she admired the warm, crackling fire, grinning at the heat it let off. Her journey came to a stop a few steps from the doorway, though, as something caught her eye. Her eyes widened as it recalled something. Laying by the fire snugly on the shag rug was a familiar white furred German Shepherd.

"Hewie?" She tried in an uncertain voice.

He rose his head and gave out a bark, chocolate brown eyes staring at her with recognition. Hewie leapt towards her expectingly and she laughed while stroking his soft fur.

"Miss Ral?"

"Oh, Miss Hange," Petra gasped as she began to stand up.

"Thank goodness you're okay! You were gone for so long that you weren't here for the Master's return."

"I shall say hello right away,"

"Not right now, you won't, he's sprained his ankle and can barely walk!"

"Sprained his ankle!?"

"Yes!"

"Of course I can walk." Came a new voice, low and dispassionate.

The women turned around, surprised. Miss Hange just laughed comfortably as she brought a hand to her abdomen to suppress any snorts of maniacal laughter. Petra stared a little wide eyed. She should have guessed familiarity would strike again after Hewie's appearance, but all she could feel was embarrassment and shame. Already having met her new benefactor in the worst circumstances possible, almost killing the poor man. Fortunately he was not dead, but in fact, injured. His arm was looped over a wooden crutch, light to press any pressure on the left foot where he had skilfully fallen. Her eyes scanned him over wearily, for she was still intimidated by the atmosphere he brought and the cold stare with those same grey eyes of steel that bore right in to her soul.

He was not a lovely looking man, but not unpleasant to look at. His low brow, lack of wrinkles and emotionless expression suited well with his slack, black hair. The way his white shirt and cravat was so pristine and tidy gave reminded her of Miss Hange's words about how their Master enjoyed a cleanly home. What struck him as odd to her, other than rather mean, was his height - or lack of. He could not have been any more than an inch or two taller than her, which was very uncommon for the governess to find, having grown up as such a small case to laugh at. Nevertheless, his shoulders were much more broad in comparison and his structure as a whole dominated her own.

"You're Mr Ackerman?"

"What a perceptive mind you have, Miss Ral," he sneered, dark eyes rimmed with sleep deprivation and bitterness. He gave her a sickening look before turning on his heel (with much difficulty) and leaving the room without another word.

Petra swallowed, feeling even more stupid and guilty than she had before. However, her pride could not shake the bothersome dent it had received from his cruel tone. She looked down at her informal feet, hands knit as she avoided Miss Hange's troubled look directed at her. Miss Hange wasn't one to dwell on negativity, the smile that usually smothered that masculine face now reappearing, toothy and oblivious.

"Don't mind his contemptuous ways, Miss Ral. I did warn you!"

"That, you did, Miss Hange..."

"He couldn't be taking a disliking to you or anything, so you needn't worry," Miss Hange brightened up then, as though a memory had popped up into that scientific brain of theirs. "Other wise he wouldn't have asked me to advise you to join him for tea first thing tomorrow morning. Bright and early!"

Petra's head popped up then, a look of disbelief. "Mr Ackerman wants me to escort him to tea?" Her face contrasted with the concoction of a mood she had been thrown in to. How dare. It may have been partially her fault that he hurt his ankle - but why the foul attitude, particularly directed at her? Somehow, Miss Hange's consoling that Mr Ackerman would always speak and act in such a way left her with no peace of mind nor any comfort at heart. She had been spoken rudely to all of her life and this was her key to a beautiful, warming life. It would be deplorable to let him get away with it. Something would have to be said sooner or later.

"Yes! He wishes to discuss his niece with you,"

"Ah, yes." She smiled. How interesting should this be, but sleep would be a difficulty tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Bewitched**

That morning dawned finally, the sky its usual pale colours. It was quite pleasant with the fires crackling happily, heat brimming the house as a toastful welcome to the Master's return. Miss Hange sat by the window thanking Mina for the tea that had been laid out on to the coffee table for them. As the young maid left, Miss Hange quickly poured out four cups full. Across from the window, where the two, big hooked arm chairs sat at either side of the fireplace, Mr Ackerman rested comfortably, despite the grumpy expression he wore. His head cocked to the right ever so slightly, resting upon his pale knuckles as he watched his niece sit gracefully on the rug beneath them, warming her hands and stroking Hewie.

Soon enough, they were blessed with Petra's presence. Her small hands gripping the fabrics of her dress nervously. Mr Ackerman watched with scornful eyes, following her movement over to the window, without moving a muscle himself. He blinked when she sat next to Miss Hange on the double seated sofa, her amber eyes flicking a friendly acknowledgement over to Mikasa.

"Mikasa," Miss Hange perked as she handed Petra her cup of tea, cloudy with milk and sugar. "Did you ask your Uncle if he brought you any presents?"

Mikasa looked up curiously from the animal she was petting, a little emotionless with the dry silence of the drawing room. Her pupils diluted at the mention of presents and she turned to look up at her blood relation expectingly. He only rolled his eyes at his housekeeper, looking down at his heir with veiled lids.

"A present, Uncle?" She teased.

He repressed the urge to call her a little shit, instead sighing and reaching to his left where a rectangular box sat atop the side table to his chair. Mikasa was more than happy to take it from him, though kept her exterior calm, hands skilfully pulling back the white cardboard folds to reveal something blood red. The texture resembling Hewie's fur, Mikasa inwardly revelled, pulling the item out slowly and wrapping the long piece of clothing proficiently around her porcelain neck. She turned to him with the ghost of a thankful smile.

"Don't you have a present for Miss Ral?" Miss Hange piped in.

His jaw rose at the mention of their governess, cluelessly sitting with her teacup in hand. She looked as though she was about to protest against the question, nose reddening as the spotlight fell on her.

"Do you expect a present, Miss Ral?"

"Of course not, sir."

"Hm," his head turned to face the fire, a soft expression blessing his features. "Perhaps you deserve a present. I hear you're quite liked with this one," a slender thumb jabbed in Mikasa's direction, to which she half-smirked underneath her scarf.

"It's my duty to-"

"Forget the modesty, I'm not interested." A hefty sigh was released from his lungs, face finally turning back to the governess and housekeeper as they sipped their tea. "She hasn't articulated quite so brightly before, clearly you've displayed some kind of sorcery."

Petra smiled, which triggered confusion from the other two in the room - Mr Ackerman's spiteful voice and questioning choice of words were not something to walk over and brush off with ease. "Thank you for acknowledging my pupil's progress."

"Oi, Hange," he ordered, blanking the governess. They seemed a little shocked at his sudden change in formalities, something Petra was most definitely not used to just yet. His hand waved back and forth. "Take yourself and these two below me out to town. I wish to speak with Miss Ral alone."

"Yes, yes!"

Miss Hange put the teacup down, shuffling over to the little girl and dog. Mikasa, although not understanding much of what was said, assumed it was time to leave as she allowed the tanned woman to take her arm and exit the room, Hewie following close behind, his white tail wagging in every direction. Petra watched as the doors to the drawing room were gently shut, a bit confused at the suddenness. There was silence once again, albeit the noisy crackles of fire and wood. Her head turned toward her benefactor who was - much to her dismay - staring those cold grey eyes into her, his leg crossed primly. At once, she undertook the opportunity to rise and re-seat herself in front of him, instantly enjoying the great heat from the fireplace.

"Miss Ral," he addressed in a strait-laced tone. "You knew my father, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I had no idea,"

"I know. Shitty glasses back there thought it'd be charitable to pick a lady from my father's school." He rolled his eyes. "I was hesitant at first, but you don't come across as the bible bashing bitch I'd expected."

"I don't appreciate your language."

"I don't appreciate your presence."

"Then I'll leave,"

"No, do stay. I haven't finished my interrogation."

Her eyes widened at this, appalled by everything that spilled out of those thin lips.

He didn't seem to crack, no emotion on show. "You bewitched my horse and caused this." His eyes flickered down, his sprained ankle rested lightly over the knee of his good leg. "Do you read, Miss Ral?"

"I do enjoy reading."

"Read a lot of books?"

"Not the bible, if you're wondering."

_Was that a smirk or did his upper lip curl out of snark?_

"You girls probably worshipped my father," he chuckled, though still no blatant smile.

"On the contrary, Mr Ackerman, and I mean no offence-" her teeth baring a grin. "-but we absolutely despised your father."

_Oh, that twitch on his lips again..._

"And here I was thinking you had lived the life of a nun, but you're a hex, aren't you?" He began to shake his ankle, bubbling up a bit at their conversation. His eyes darted toward the grand piano, dusty and untouched in the corner of the room. "You play?"

"I know a few songs."

"Play for me one day." It sounded more like an order than a request. "Mikasa showed me some sketches last night. She said they were yours."

"Oh? I didn't realise I had left them out,"

"You must have been taught by a professional."

"No, I always took a liking to art. I taught myself."

Mr Ackerman let out a 'tch' with a cluck of his tongue and teeth, a scoff that somehow offended her on a personal level, and reminded Petra of Miss Hange's words concerning their benefactor: _was he earnest or mocking me?_

"Ah," his eyes scanning her carefully. "I noticed that you like to add detail to flowers specifically. With portraits there is a lack of definition. Do you feel akin to plants over humans?"

Though he was joking, she couldn't help but smile stupidly. "You're a very fastidious man, Mr Ackerman."

"What is your name?"

Her smile faltered, then fell. She looked up at him, head rising slowly and eyebrow knitted in confusion. "Sir?"

"Did I stutter?"

"...Petra Ral," her voice wavering in puzzlement. "But-"

"-I didn't get your Christian name... Petra."

_That made sense!_

"That is strange. I would have thought your housekeeper would tell you my name."

"As did I, but she addressed you solely as Miss Ral."

It fell upon her that, she too, did not know the Master's first name. It was only polite to address him as Mr Ackerman after hisfather and perhaps it was rude to ask such a thing to a highly respected man, whom had much more money and socialite than she. Miss Hange clearly had not thought of this between the two. She looked at him head-on for a second, enchanted by the warmth of the fire and how the orange glow marvelled against his chiselled cheekbones. Quickly, she snapped herself out of that childish daze and perked her confidence back up.

"What is your name, Mr Ackerman?"

Silence once again took up the confinements of the drawing room, Mr Ackerman's gaze averted elsewhere. She huffed. For her favourite room in the castle it definitely was a shell of a conversation. The pulse that ran through the governess' fiery veins accelerated, the man in front of her standing suddenly, his underarm gripping the wooden crutch painfully. Had that been a rude thing to ask? It didn't seem as such, but clearly he was offended as he turned to leave the red haired girl. It was her initial reaction to apologise immediately and explain herself, but he beat her to it.

"Levi."

...

With that, he was gone.

Petra could not help but repeat the name in her head over and over.

_Levi... Levi Ackerman. Mr. Levi Ackerman. Sir Levi Ackerman. Master Levi Ackerman!_

She felt embarrassed at her own thoughts, swatting them away like pesky flies. Oh, how did such an interesting, rogue man come from the rib of a brute and a toe-rag like Kenny Ackerman?

* * *

><p>A change in attitude dawned the next few days and that was when Petra decided to cast her benefactor as a capricious and fickle gentleman with elements of sincerity. The other night it was as though she were the villain and he was innocent under her evil spells. Although he had been gone on duties the last two days, today he road in on his black stallion with a mighty person unto himself, despite his still-short stature. Her little house slippers were quickly slipped on as she rushed down the staircases to meet with him at once. At the foot of the spiral, she stood, hands clasped together sweetly and a smile upon her lips.<p>

"Good morning, Mr Ackerman," she smiled.

"It's Levi," his voice oddly up-beat. "Good morning, Petra. I trust you slept well."

"Yes, the castle is so homely,"

"I'm rarely here. However," he dusted one gloved finger along the wooden banister, a face of disgust as the black cloth picked up specks of dust. "I'm the only one who cleans the fucking filth."

She flinched again at his language - still new to her. It was apparent that either she would have to wash his mouth out with soap - which he wouldn't seem to mind - or the governess would have to accustom herself to his profanities. Shaking off any awkwardness she may have caused, her voice returned to its cheery self.

"How was your ride? Where did you go?"

"You sound like a child on Christmas morning." His reply was put bluntly. "More excited to see me than my own family."

Her lips thinned. "I am not excited to see you. I asked about your travel,"

"Right," he drawled.

She pushed. "So...?"

"...Not bad."

_And here I was thinking this was a man of words, somehow._

"Why do you travel so often?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Because I know little of the world and I yearn for adventure. If I can't go out on horseback and shake hands with noblemen like you then I should like to hear of it."

His eyes glimmered for a second. "One day I'll tell you all about my travels."

"While I play you a song on the piano?"

_Oh, was that a smile finally!?_

Alas, he did not smile, but it was the closest Petra felt that she would get. For his naturally unhappy face had taken a lift in colour, veiled eyes widened a fraction, though he still avoided her gaze, steel greys looking off to the side awkwardly. It was a humorous thing to see a grown man, who brought a cape of terror into the room with him, become uncomfortable under the brave glow of a young woman. He took his assertiveness back in, head rising and eyes piercing - that low, grumpy brow re-appearing to shadow the dark circles that blushed his lower lids. Swiftly, he pulled off his black riding gloves.

"Excuse me," he muttered. "You're in my way."

She frowned, murmuring an apology as she speedily shuffled out of his way, watching after him a little longingly as he climbed the staircase. It bothered her to no end on how inconsistent he was, and the frequent change in behaviour wrecked her with anxiety for most of their conversations. Still, if she were to befriend her benefactor it was only natural to act with kindness and tolerance, which she could spare lovingly (in small doses). Fortunately for Petra, she had learnt to stand strong before an Ackerman.

While assorting her belongings and stationery for Mikasa's next lesson, Mina trotted her way in to the room with a smiley expression, though she looked out of breath from venturing back and forth over the castle. In her hands were piles of white sheets folded neatly, which she placed on a stool in the corner of the room. Her back stood straight and right wrist coming up to push some of the coal black locks from her forehead.

"Hello, Mina," Petra greeted.

Mina squeaked, a hand covering her mouth. Obviously she had not seen anyone else in the room. "Good afternoon, Miss Ral! I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone else was in here!"

"There's no need to apologise, I'm sure you must be tired."

Mina laughed dismissively. "Everything is fine, there is a lot of work to be done today."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she smiled, which then fell to hesitance. "I couldn't help but notice Mr Ackerman and you speaking earlier."

Petra internally questioned her semi-frown, but set it down to Mina feeling out of her place pointing out the Master's business. Petra let out a giggle. "He seemed to be in a good mood this morning."

"Yes, though he is equally as busy as the rest of us today. Most likely for the visit of the honourable Lady Brzenska. All the way from Poland,"

"Hm?"

"You have not heard of Miss Rico Brzenska?"

"No, I haven't,"

"Oh," her face dropped, as though she should not have mentioned anything. Quickly she scurried to the door. "Well... you will." And she left.

_Lady Brzenska?_

* * *

><p>That evening, Mr Ackerman called for the governess to sit with him in the drawing room again. She approached him cautiously, sat in the same seat he always did in front of the fireplace. He did not acknowledge her, or it was deliberate ignorance, but she felt out of place, sitting across from him with hesitation.<p>

"Petra," he said once she made herself comfortable.

She noted how his eyes continued to ward off her own, staring without emotion into the orange warmth by their side. It was a pleasure to look at his face in such an angle: her chest clenching abnormally tight at the square of his jaw and the bruises of purple and grey that darkened his eyes sleepily. For a pale man he was clearly in good health and well-built underneath his black suit. He covered up an awful lot even when he sat by the roasting fire, the cravat around his neck tightened prim and proper. As though, if she were to lay a finger on him, he would scoff and shoo her away like some sort of peasant girl. It hadn't dawned upon her that she was staring at him until his neck snapped around, judging her.

"You're staring, Miss Ral," his voice low, switching back to formalities. "Do you find me attractive?"

She stuttered for words, embarrassed. "No!" And then realised how rude she sounded.

Much to her surprise, his mouth twitched again and what could be identified as a low chuckle escaped his throat, eyes squinting through the heat to further judge her. "Not a very quaint girl at all, are you? I was so sure you were a nun and here you are insulting me."

"Sir, forgive me," she shook her head. "'Twas a blunder."

"What faults do you find with my face? Do tell."

"Mr Ackerman, I in no way intended any wordplay or banter. I apologise."

"Good."

"Are you judging me for my slip-up?"

He sighed with annoyance, his voice stern as though scolding a child. "No, young lady, I am not _judging _you."

The governess took his reaction with a light heart, a thoughtful expression fallen over her face. He studied her for a second through contemptuous eyes, screwed with scrutiny which appeared to trigger the crows' feet that wrinkled above his cheekbones.

"When I was a young boy," he continued. "My mother passed away. Mr Ackerman was so filled with anguish he depressed all of his hatred for the world into my sister and I.  
>"He hated women after that. Why he started that wretched school I'll never understand, other than an excuse to reprimand little females. My sister got the blunt force of it; he never loved her," his eyes flitted to Petra's, then looked away. "She ran away to Germany and met her husband. Finally, a man who loved her."<p>

"And that was the birth of Mikasa," Petra finished whole-heartedly, listening closely to the Master's story.

Levi nodded dryly. "My own childhood took place differently. Mr Ackerman expected me to follow in his footsteps. If I refused anything, my punishment would be traumatic." He stopped speaking then, a worry line appearing between his brows. "Inheriting his fortune is all the good he'll ever do me. I know that look, Petra, you think I am metallic and grating, but I can guarantee you, little woman, that I..." he stalled, gawking into her amber hues as they reflected many types of fire. "...I... that I..." still staring into her. "...I refuse to drown in rivers and streams when I am suffocating; weathered down by my selfish needs when there is a pixie in front of me."

"I feel that is not what you intended to say,"

"And what did I intend to say, braggart!?" He snapped.

"It was an assumption," she defended. "I believe you intended to preserve your heart's true intentions. Mr Ackerman-"

"Levi,"

"-Levi... I believe you are truly kind. I am not mistaken."

His body cooled, worry line apparent as he took in a large breath and held it for a moment before sighing - eyes closed, as though he were in pain. Petra hardly knew the man and here she sat terrified for his well-being and mental capacity. Suffering a childhood of neglect and abuse herself, she related all-too well with him. She felt crestfallen and useless at his hardship, but internally revelled as he became livelier, though still flagrant in his exterior.

"Miss Ral," stone-like and forbidding he hissed. Petra felt like she was about to lose her mind: back to formalities and strict conduct. "Regarding earlier, you are _no more _pretty than I am handsome."

She blinked, taken back by such a comment. How rude... or was it a compliment? She had not given him a truthful opinion on his looks, but he had assumed she thought him grotesque. In conclusion, Levi found her un-pretty. Her head lowered - not out of sadness. An irritable feeling punching through her gut and a string of foul thoughts laced down her throat. It was a battle to keep everything down with a mere bite of her lip. She refused to look at him even when he called out her name again, urging for a response.

"Stubborn, are you? What else... annoyed?"

Still no response.

"I envy you. You're stainless. You're like some sort of fairy."

"What were you like at my age?" She whispered, head kept low.

"Your equal."

"A conscience so clean?"

"Quite. I was a good man, you see, but now... I am not."

"Why are your misfortunes my fault?"

"You call them misfortunes like the spillage of my heart meant nothing to you," he rose, startling the governess. His ankle had healed fairly well, though he still hobbled slightly on two feet. All at once, she had heard the words "perhaps I was wrong" uttered and then he was gone and she was left alone... once again.


End file.
